


Dear Holmes...

by GSister



Series: Dear Holmes [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 08:53:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7526362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GSister/pseuds/GSister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Away at war, Watson corresponds with Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear Holmes...

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Not Entirely Futile](https://archiveofourown.org/works/872646) by [methylviolet10b](https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b). 
  * Inspired by [Sacrifice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/916881) by [Glory1863](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glory1863/pseuds/Glory1863). 



> Inspired by Not Entirely Futile by methylviolet10b , and Sacrifice by Glory1863  
> Seriously - go read them first!
> 
> These Characters do not belong to me (but if they did, I'D share… probably.) That said, this story was written purely for self entertainment and no money is being made, has changed hands, or has been paid out for the contents therein. Special thanks to my Beta BMP – who listened patiently to many a diatribe and fan girl squee in a fandom she has no interest in. Without her encouragement (nagging), constructive criticism, and long talks on characterization, I might still be writing pathetically depressing purple poetry, and what prose I did write, would NEVER be finished… 
> 
> ~Constructive Criticism will be graciously accepted  
> ~Flames will be used to toast marshmallows  
>  

Dear Holmes,

I hope this missive finds you well. Thank you for your last letter telling me of the state of your beehives. I find myself picturing the garden in all its glory, the sun smiling down on the flowers, the pleasant hum of the bees as they gather pollen to take to the hive… It was a welcome break from the thunder of artillery, the cries of the wounded, and the stench of war. 

I’ve mentioned in my previous letters that triage is one of my primary duties. I go from one casualty to the next, diagnosing the severity of their wounds and moving on, so that other doctors may save the most patients possible. I’m afraid that I am one of the slower surgeons on staff. My souvenirs from Afghanistan forbid me to wield the scalpel in the most efficient manner, as you well know. But at least I am able to provide some help, whether just by assessing the injured or by a slow, methodical wielding of the tools of my craft. 

Speaking of craft, I have met several fans of my writing craft this month. Perhaps it is more accurate to say I have met several of your fans this month. The men who pass through here were most keen to hear of your exploits, and ask if there are other cases that I still plan to publish. I usually manage to put them off; you know I have promised you that I would not publish any cases without your express permission. But occasionally I will tell some small tale that we had decided were not sensational enough to demonstrate your cleverness to the public, and thus was unfit to print. The men here find some comfort in those tales, uninspiring as they may be. They have proven to be a welcome break in the pain and monotony that a stay in hospital may be. 

I’m sure you have read of the latest advances in weapons to come out of this conflict. Why men need more ways to kill each other in ever more painful ways I can’t comprehend. The old ways worked just fine. 

This new weapon is horrendous, Holmes. Any of our boys who are unfortunate to get in its way are walking dead men. There is nothing we can do for them, but try to make their passing as painless as possible. Never have I felt so useless as a doctor… 

I regret that I must be the one to inform you, my dear Holmes, that the latest victim of this dreadful beast was young Tommy Wiggins. To me, he’ll always be the leader of your faithful band of Irregulars, and not the young man gone for a soldier in a war that seems to escalate daily. I did all I could for him, please believe that. In the end, all I could do was sit with him, and let him know that he was not alone. Dear God, Holmes, what are we doing here?

I apologize for ending this letter on such a sorrowful note, but the mail is about to leave. If I don’t send this with the outgoing shipment, there is no knowing when the next chance to send it may be. Please take care of yourself, my old friend. Remember that even great minds are attached to human bodies that need food, water, and sleep. 

I remain, your ever faithful biographer, 

John Watson


End file.
